I've Been a Fool
by All Around Loon
Summary: Arya Stark is a woman now, and back in land of the seven kingdoms. With the looming threat beyond the wall, and winter's arrival, she must choose her allegiances carefully.


Hi All! This is just some Arya drabble that will hopefully become a full blown awesome story time in the future. It's set somewhere between the universe of the books and the television show, so I guess it's a little bit AU. Enjoy!

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The snow on the ground was the color of summer sunset, and Arya stared at it with an intense interest. It made her think of sun, and warmth, and running amongst the godswood with her siblings. It had been a long time since she had seen a sunset, and nearly all of her siblings were dead. Summer was long over, and all that was left was the unforgiving cold that came with a northern winter. She adjusted the large fur around her neck and whistled for the wolf that was somewhere off in the woods hunting for herself. She slung the dead rabbit over her shoulder and began the long trudge back to camp. It would be another week before she reached anywhere worth reaching, but she didn't mind the solitude. Sometimes she would go weeks without speaking to anyone but Nymeria, but she was better company than most anyway. The forest was unforgiving this time of year, but the Stark blood that ran through her veins kept her alive. She was not fair and fragile like her sister, and the cold was cold but it was nothing against the fire that burned in her heart.

Once back at camp, the small fire was enough to cook a small rabbit which she and Nymeria shared. She melted some snow for water, and even managed to burn some pine needles for a nice cup of tea before she settled down for the harsh night. Arya hadn't slept right for years, not since The Hound had carried her from the Frey's castle. She could still hear their chants, "_king of the north"_, over and over again. She closed her eyes tight hoping somehow it would push the thoughts from her mind, but they were always there.

When the sun finally rose, she breathed a sigh of relief and packed up. What little sun shone through the tree tops was certainly a welcome sight.

As she walked, Nymeria ran ahead of her making sure their path would stay clear. It pained Arya to walk away from her home, but she had to go south. There was nothing in Winterfell for her anymore. _"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell", _She heard her Father's voice in her head. She sent off a silent apology to wherever he was. For there were no longer any Stark's in Winterfell. In fact, the few remaining Stark's were so scattered about it had been years since Arya had seen anyone who shared her blood. She thought they were probably all dead.

Nymeria howled in the distance and Arya froze, instantly dropping to a crouching position. She scanned the trees around her, but noticed no movement. Still, that howl meant someone was close. She felt her hand instinctively move around the handle of her small sword, Needle. The crunching of snow behind her gave away the enemy's position and she turned to point the blade at the chin of a very tall man.

"Gotcha." He said through a mass of rotten teeth. She felt a mans arm encircle her waist and she kicked back, pushing him into the snow where Nymeria lunged to rip his throat out. He choked for only a moment and she once again pointed the blade at the vein now throbbing in the disgusting man's neck.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" She said, but he did not look scared. After only a moment, she saw why. More men, maybe twelve or fifteen of them where emerging from the trees. Nymeria growled loudly and Arya began to panic.

"No need to worry, little dove." The man spat out. "We ain't gonna hurt ya'."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

The man chuckled once more, "Apprehend the beast."

"Nymeria, run!"

The wolf gave a desperate bark and ran deep into the wood. It knew the tone in Arya's voice was a serious one, and although it would never leave her under regular circumstances, it obeyed orders. "Find it!' Was all the man yelled, grabbing the small blade with his hand and tossing it aside. He grabbed Arya's chin so hard she fell to her knees. "That's a better position for ya', girl. What're you doin' out in the woods all alone?"

She said nothing and he struck her hard against the cheek. She spit blood on the white snow, and watched it as he slung her over his shoulder. There was no use fighting if she wanted to live, the men who hadn't gone to chase the direwolf were closing in on the two of them. All she could was close her eyes as he carried her away from the safety and solitude of the woods.

She felt the chains around her wrists before she opened her eyes. It smelled damp wherever she was, but it was warm. The warmth from a far off fire was bouncing off her cheek, and as she cautiously opened one eye, it was a cellar that met her gaze. A large pit in the middle of the room was the source of the heat, and she could vaguely make out the silhouettes of two or three other people also chained to the walls around her. She lifted her head, and the pain from her cheek shot into her temple almost immediately.

A small curse escaped her lips. She had done so well up until now.

"I thought you might be a girl." A voice from across the room echoed off the walls.

"Where am I?" She spat back, squinting her eyes, trying to make out any features of the faceless man on the other side of the fire.

"Barrowton."

She cursed again, for that was not nearly as south as she was hoping. When she got out of this place she still had a long while to walk. "I'm-" But the sentence was cut off by the scraping of metal against the dirt floor. Daylight flooded the room from above and Arya was forced to squint against the harsh light. She felt a hand wrap around her bicep and she struggled against it.

"Up you go, bitch." She spat in the mans face as another unshackled her.

"She's a feisty one."

"Eh, it'll make her more fun later."

The jesting of the men made her stomach turn. As they pulled her up the stairs, she continued to struggled. In fact, she struggled all the way through the town until she was thrown onto the ground before a high lord sitting at a long table. He was alone, his hair long, and his face harsh. "State your name, Girl."

"Cat."

"Cat?" The man repeated. "Are you a wildling fleeing the oncoming threat beyond the wall?"

Arya did not answer. One of the men handed her another heavy blow across the cheek. "Answer your lord."

"He is no lord of mine." She spat, and he struck her again. The lord laughed.

"Don't take her back to the cellar, put her to work in the kitchen until I figure out a just punishment. Let her make herself useful until she may become amusing." He waved his hand, and she was hoisted up once again. The men all but dragged her down countless hallways and threw her to the ground of a large kitchen.

"Wench!" He yelled, and a small woman came scurrying from deep inside the vast room. "Here's your new ward, at the end of the day you will chain her where you chain the others." The woman nodded, and once the men left, she disappeared. When she returned it was with a pail of water.

"For your face." She said. Arya nodded her thanks and dipped her hands in the cool water, the woman tossed her a rag. "A pretty thing like you, what did you do?"

Before Arya could answer, the door to the kitchen was pushed open, and the cold hit her bare back like needles. She was clothed in only a ripped undergarment and the man that had entered gave her a quick glance. "Might I borrow some more coals for the smith? His fire isn't burning hot enough."

"That voice," Arya thought, turning her head to face the man. "Seven hells." The think mop of black hair, the arms, it was Gendry. Bastard son of Robert Baratheon. She averted her gaze and began splashing water on her face, but it was too late, he had met her eyes not seconds before she had turned away and was walking forward.

"Girl, look at me." He commanded, reaching down to touch her shoulder. She obliged, her eyes wide and full of pleading. He dropped his hand like it had been burned by fire. "I'm taking the girl."

The woman motioned with her hand. "Do what you will with her, but bring her back, if I lose another ward the lord'll have me head." She disappeared behind the deep oven, and Gendry helped Arya to stand. They spent a long time just looking at one another, neither sure how to help the other.

"What are you doing here?" Arya finally said, her voice a vicious whisper.

"Me? You were supposed to have married Ramsay Bolton."

"What?"

"This is very confusing." Gendry began to take off his coat and wrapped it around her. "We must get you out of here."

"I agree, but how? Are you a smith?"

"Yes and No, I've been trying to get back to the Riverlands, to The Brotherhood."

"I'm headed that way as well." She affirmed, and followed him from the kitchens. His coat hid her shackles, but there was still the business of her battered face.

"We will leave once night falls. The servants here are good people, they will help us past the guards."

"Wait," she said, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking. It was beginning to snow. "How do you know they will help us?"

"Many in the North are still loyal to Starks-"

"No." She retorted. "No one can know who I am. Only you."

"But-"

"NO! Promise me." Her grip around his arm tightened and he sighed. "Gendry." His name felt foreign on her tongue, and he said nothing. "We leave after night fall?"

"Yes. I will get you out of here. Take you back to your mother."

Despite the rumors of her mothers horrendous fate, the thought excited her. "Okay."

"Okay." He answered, taking her hand and pulling her along the snow laden path to the servants quarters.


End file.
